


If you were church (I'd get on my knees)

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: A Lot Of Talk About God, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Author is not Christian, Bible Quotes, Coitus Interruptus, Confessions, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Imagine The Poor Peeps Sitting Behind Me, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pre-Relationship, Religious Content, Religious Guilt, Slow Build, Tension, Therapy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, i wrote this on the bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27226129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: One day after sermon, Ned turns to Reverend Lovejoy with a confession to make: a confession that would put both their lives in a tailspin and knock them both out of balance. Will their love for God save them now?Happy reading!
Relationships: Ned Flanders & Timothy Lovejoy, Ned Flanders/Timothy Lovejoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Lovejoy’s POV**

“Pardon me, reverend, but do you have a moment?” piped up an all-too-familiar, nasally voice from amidst the throng of church-goers lined up to shake Lovejoy’s hand or ask for advice before exiting the building. Lovejoy, the ever-unenthused pastor, pulled whatever Bible quotes and verses he hadn’t used yet, whether they related to the person and their situation or not. His sermon was over, he wanted to go back home to the bottle and his model trains.

However, a certain Hell-sent, mustache-wearing, bespectacled man, stood between Timothy and his happiness, expectantly awaiting him to grant him his time. Utterly sarcastic, Timothy drawled: “Always for you, Ned”, his enmity unnoticed by the other man.

“Glad to hear it, neighbor-eeno!” exclaimed Ned, but his go-lucky demeanor faded briskly as he continued speaking, his eyes dropping to the church floor. “You see, I have a teeny, tiny- Well, _minuscule_ , really!- problem.”

 _Just say **small**_ , thought Lovejoy, already thoroughly annoyed by Ned’s lengthy way of speaking, taking his sweet time. Was he truly _that_ oblivious to the reverend’s distaste for him? Could _any_ man be this naive?

As Flanders struggled to get his words out, shifting his weight from foot to foot in an obvious display of anxiety he definitely did not mean to show, Lovejoy couldn’t help but note the absence of Ned’s offspring.

“Where’re the kids, then, Flanders?” he shot, breaking the other’s concentration. Adjusting his glasses and rubbing at the back of his head, Ned replied: “Oh, I sent them back with Homer. He’s making sure they get home safe.”

At this, Timothy let a laugh slip out, rolling his eyes at Ned’s credulity. Issuing Homer Simpson the task of safe-keeping anything - much less any ** _one_** \- wasn’t the brightest idea. Lovejoy still can’t believe that man has children of his own that are alive and well. Nonetheless, the snarky reply came on its own at this point, the need to placate or stay friendly with Ned Flanders close to nonexistent to him.

“That ought to be good.”

As though struck, Ned took a step back, his timid conduct turning more worried as he stammered out: “W- Whatever do you mean?”

Okay, so perhaps Lovejoy should be a little more forgiving towards him. God did teach him to love his neighbor as he did himself. Though he had to admit, he didn’t like himself an awful lot. Still, the least he could do, as a pastor and as Flanders'… _friend_ \- he shuddered upon the concept of this word and its connection to Ned - was hear him out. So he put on a tight-lipped smile, an attempt of easing Ned’s concern, and he said: “Nothing, of course, I’m just teasing. Well, Flanders, what can I do for you?”

Although the more tangible worry in the air was diffused, the _tension_ was still thick enough to be cut with a butter knife. Lovejoy had never seen Ned so uneasy, or without his kids in church for a longer period of time. Whatever this teeny, tiny, _minuscule_ problem was - as Flanders so delicately phrased it -, it had to be serious.

Once again averting his eyes, the good Christian scuffed his shoe against the stone floor, mumbling: “I’m aware you don’t do confessions… But I have something I really need to get off my chest, and I couldn’t think of anyone else to come to.”

Alienated by the lack of ‘diddlies’ used in Ned’s sentences and his overall demeanor - the fidgeting of his hands, his glasses askew on his rosy-cheeked face, the complete drought of cheer -, Timothy swallowed his ifs and buts, a decades-old concern blooming up in his chest at the sight of Ned looking so troubled. He recalled the countless times the man had come up to him, needing his help coveting his own wife or schooling his sons. Albeit neither of those parties were in the picture now. So it was thanks to his own sense of empathy and a small amount of curiosity that Lovejoy decided to humor the other’s request.

“Very well. As you said, we don’t usually do this sort of thing, so it won’t be like your regular confession,” he explained flatly, moving two pews together and cringing at the disdainful shriek they let out scraping the floor in the process. Without as much as looking at Ned, he gestured for him to take a seat on one of the pews. When Flanders, mute yet cooperative, complied, he sat down opposite to him so their backs were facing, nearly touching by the shoulders, and he spoke: “Now, then… What did you want to confess?”

He could almost _feel_ Flanders' unease from where he sat, unable to see him but sensing the tension nonetheless. What sin could make Ned Flanders this out of sorts? It must be something truly unjust.

Before Timothy could shape any theories on what the other might have done, Ned mumbled something beneath his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said I’ve caught feelings for someone else!” exclaimed Ned, then winced at his raise in volume and added, quieter: “Other than Maude, that is. And I can’t keep it to myself any longer.”

 _Of course._ The reverend allowed himself a sigh of relief, thankful it was nothing more serious than that. In fact, what Ned thought ‘a sin’ wasn’t even so. He leaned his head back but forgot Ned had his only inches away and knocked it against his, practically head-butting him.

“My bad,” he hissed, touching the sore spot the impact left on the back of his head as he attempted to calm Ned.

“It’s been years since the accident, Flanders. You’re allowed to move on and start dating again. It’s what Maude would have wanted for you.”

The church became eerily quiet for several seconds, and Lovejoy feared he’d said the wrong thing until Ned spoke, by the sound closer to the pastor than he was mere moments ago. When Lovejoy did turn around, Ned was facing him, his face flushed and not too far away from the other's.

“... Do you really think so?” asked Ned, a glint of hope peeking through the fear in his eyes. Startled by their sudden closeness, Timothy cleared his throat, offering the bespectacled man a small smile, half nerves, and half genuineness. He assured him: “I _know_ so. And so would the Lord. He would want you to be happy above all.”

Taken back by his words, or perhaps only now registering the short space between them, Flanders pulled back, bowing his head - his glasses sloping down his nose in the process. He looked so deflated, so _small_. For some Godforsaken reason, the reverend had to fight the impulse to adjust Ned’s glasses for him. He told himself it was just his need to keep things neat and tidy.

After all, what else could it be?

“I suppose you’re right,..” began Ned, perplexed, before he promptly shot up from his seat, putting on a wide, far-too-easily-distinguished fake smile, that chipper facade right back where he left it.

“Why, I already feel a whole lot darn better! Thanks a bunch, reverend!” and with that, Flanders turned on his heel to walk out the church gate, in an awful hurry. Sure, he could be worrying about his kids and wanting to get back to them, but Lovejoy has dealt with people all his life, namely those with Catholic guilt. And he wasn’t even a Catholic priest!

So what could Flanders not be telling him? Was his confession just a lie, or a sugar-coated truth?

Watching his frame, Lovejoy thought he ought to show Ned some kindness, maybe it would help him open up more. And so, he called his name, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“If by chance this lovely lady of yours is in town, bring her to church someday, will you? I’d love to meet her,” he said, only exaggerating a little bit. He _was_ curious as to who could make Ned so lovestruck, though he would never admit it aloud. The expression on the other man’s face when Timothy called his name, the one of anticipation; it crumbled when Timothy mentioned his infatuation, the smile on his face twitching. Then he covered it up with another even wider grin as to make up for the lack of enthusiasm.

“I’ll certainly try,” he promised, half-hearted, and left, the sound of the heavy church gate closing leaving Lovejoy by his disoriented self.

**Flanders’ POV**

The upcoming week after Ned’s ‘confession’ was a test of his emotions and will. Sermons and masses were held at least three times a week, of which Flanders attended every single one with his sons, loyal not only to his faith and his Creator but to Reverend Lovejoy as well. As much as he despised himself for pining after the harsh, bitter man - whose last name suited him _none_ -, he simply couldn’t help himself. Listening to him droning on about God, faith, and sin in that monotone voice of his was the highlight of Ned's week, and he found himself zoning out watching said man more often than not, slowly falling into this deep hole of corrupt, sacrilegious love and doting.

Of course, he _tried_ to get rid of these feelings early; as soon as he realized they existed, in fact. It didn’t matter to him that he didn’t partake in the Catholic belief that homosexuality was a sin, what mattered was what he’d been taught. What was right and wrong. And this ungodly infatuation he currently held for Lovejoy? It was wrong. And it would pass. Ned would come to his senses. He _had_ to.

Sunday came and Rod and Todd eagerly ran up to their rooms to dress for church. Flanders hadn’t slept in days, this showed when he studied his reflection in the hallway mirror. His hair was a mess and his mustache too long, his eyes carrying bags beneath them. He hadn’t even tied his tie correctly.

By the time his sons descended the stairs, practically _running_ , he must have let down his defenses, for Rod suddenly tugged at his shirt sleeve, wondering if he wasn’t excited for the sermon. Equally concerned was his little brother, who looked up at their father expectantly. The two of them were too bright to miss someone’s sadness, but Ned should have been more careful. He replied with strained excitement: “You can bet your bottom dollar I am, boys! Now let’s go, we don’t want to be late!”, which was enough to fool his sons for now. Little white lies were okay if they meant protecting your family, he reminded himself. Yet the pit in his stomach he had in anticipation of seeing the reverend remained, if not growing _larger_ by the second.

Seated in the front pew of the church as per usual, with both of his boys on his right side, Flanders watched as Pastor Lovejoy stepped up on the pulpit, greeting his listeners with a cold opening statement.

“Today, we shall talk about the sins of temptation: Specifically, the temptation of _lust_.”

 _Oh, boy._ As though spoken to directly, Ned sunk a bit into his seat, the knee-jerk reaction gaining the attention of the first pew, as well as Lovejoy himself, who arched an eyebrow in question at him before carrying on, just as flatly as he had begun: “As you all know, love is a beautiful thing to be shared with our friends and families, and with our Lord. But there are circumstances in which love can be sinful…”

As his speech went on, some church-goers began to lose interest, sharing hushed words with their company and some pulling out their phones, hiding them behind the backrest of the next pew. The amount of disrespect in these gestures angered Flanders. Why would they come to church if they weren’t going to listen to what was being said anyway?

Gaze fixing on Lovejoy, as it usually did, Ned mulled over his lackluster tone, his lidded eyes, and the look in them telling him he’d rather be _anywhere_ but up on that pulpit. Lovejoy’s methods of preaching could get... _lengthy_ , admittedly, though Ned found himself transfixed, and when he turned to check on his boys, they were devotedly listening, too. Pride swelled in his heart; he had taught them well.

Then, Timothy met his eyes - something he _never_ did during sermon -, and all while he recited a familiar verse from the Bible. Ned swallowed, his chest constricted and heavy.

_“Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings,..”,_

Ned mouthed along the last part: _“- and he will direct thee for good. Alma, 37:34”._

The corners of Lovejoy’s lips curled slightly upward, a barely-there smile, but Flanders caught it all the same. With slightly trembling hands, Ned pulled out his pocket bible with private notes, and on the very last page, he added the exact quote the reverend had just delivered. Eyes drifting back to the object of his affection, Flanders sighed, absentmindedly scribbling something resembling a heart around the quote. It was only when his eldest son Rod poked him in the side and pointed out that his pen was leaking that he snapped out of it. He looked down and realized to his disdain that his hand and lap were both covered in ink. _Thank the Lord he was wearing dark denim._ He wiped the ink on his palm on them. He put his bible away as well as his feelings, and he shut his eyes to focus on the reverend’s _words_ , and not on _him directly._

However, the speech soon became darker, more specific, more… personal. Lovejoy explained the sin of committing adultery, of coveting, but it was when he got to loving someone of your own sex that the straw broke the camel’s back. Ned’s heart ached terribly in his chest when he was told for the hundredth time what he already knew to be true. Flanders rose from the pew and walked, his only thought being: _‘I need to get out of here’._ Reverend Lovejoy trailed off his speech. Ned could hear his sons calling after him, and he prayed they would stay put as he rushed down the aisle, ignoring the dozens of wide eyes staring after him.

As soon as the gate shut behind him, he gasped in the fresh air like he’d been suffocated inside, and it wasn’t too far off from the truth. With tears burning in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall, Ned looked up to the sky, and he asked God: “Why do you do this to me?”

No answer. _Typical_. “You know, you could actually respond to me for once… just this one time. I could use the comfort,” he continued, moving out of the way in front of the entrance and rounding the corner, sliding down the wall to sit in the wet grass. It had been raining.

As though in spite, or perhaps meant as the comfort Ned had asked for, a sign from above; thunder broke out, a low rumbling through the humid air. And as the first drops of rain fell, so did Ned’s tears…

* * *

Several minutes later that to Flanders felt like _hours_ , he could hear the chattering of people flooding the parking lot, and his sons calling for him. Roughly wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve and cleaning his glasses with the same one, Flanders rounded the corner to get to the gate and, seeing Lovejoy shaking hands with loitering church-goers inside, he approached his kids.

“Where did you go, Daddy?” whined Todd, looking scared for his father, who instantly felt a pang of guilt rush through him. He picked Todd up in a big hug and pulled Rod in too, murmuring hushed reassurances to them.

“Daddy needed to clear his head a bit. I’m sorry for giving you a fright”, and he kissed Todd’s forehead, elated to see both of their bright smiles. It was a reminder to him that no matter how things went with the pastor, he would always have his family. Then, when the Simpsons passed them, Ned called out: “Hey, Homer! Would you mind getting my kids back today again? It would be awfully kind of you. I have an urgent matter to speak to Reverend Lovejoy about,” and he offered him his most dazzling smile, not deterred by the rolling of his eyes.

 _“Again?”_ he huffed, but motioned for Rod and Todd to go wait in the car with Lisa and Bart when Marge gave him a meaningful glare, telling him to ‘be nice’. Homer went on: “You could almost think you guys were _dating!”_ , and Ned blinked a couple of times, uncertain if he’d heard him right. No one had ever said such a thing about him and another man before, much less one he was _romantically_ _interested_ in.

“I- I’m sorry, what?” Ned choked out, his face warm.

“I’ll do it. But you owe me _two_ boxes of donuts now!” Homer reminded him before leaving his neighbor, driving off in that ugly red car in a cloud of smoke. He’d get all the donuts his heart desired, Flanders thought, thankful for his neighbor in spite of his animosity.

Suddenly, Ned could hear a loud clearing of the throat behind him, and he spun around to see Lovejoy leaning against the doorframe to the church, looking utterly done with Ned before he had even said anything. Ned's heart jumped into his throat, but he allowed his feelings to guide him on autopilot as he looked around to make sure no one was close by before taking the other man’s hand and leading him into the sacristy of the church, ignoring his stuttered protests.

Once the doors closed behind them, Ned turned to the pastor, who looked more confused yet more delectable than ever; his arms crossed over his chest with those long sleeves of his robe pooling over them, his head cocked to the side and his foot angrily tapping against the floor.

“What’s up with you today, Ned? Why did you run off like that?”

Part of Ned wished to fight it, part of him truly did, but he felt as though his heart would give if he didn’t do this right here, right now. In front of God Himself, and more importantly, in front of _Reverend Timothy Lovejoy Jr_ , he confessed: “There is no lady.”

Lost, Timothy got that charming furrow in his brow, his arms returning to his sides in a less hostile stance. “What?”

Taking a deep, terribly shaky breath, Flanders came clean.

“When I confessed to you that I had feelings for someone else, someone new, that ‘someone’ wasn’t a pretty lady. In fact, it’s not a lady _at all,”_ and it appeared that he finally got through to the reverend because his eyes widened almost comically. If Ned wasn’t so unnerved, he probably would have allowed himself a laugh. However, when Lovejoy had the decency to ask “Who is it, then?”, it occurred to Ned that there was no backing out of this. Putting everything at risk, absolutely _everything_ , he crossed the distance between them and put his hands to the sides of Lovejoy’s face, pulling him into an ardent kiss.

A muffled noise of surprise left Lovejoy’s lips, a sound which Ned tried to memorize and hang onto so that he could replay it in his head over and over again. Ned's glasses sat aslant on his nose thanks to the position of their faces and his arms came around Timothy’s neck, his skin warm beneath Ned's fingertips and his hair soft. _Why would God ever oppose this?_ Ned wondered, but he grew wary in a matter of seconds as he realized that the man wasn’t kissing him back. He didn’t shove him away either, his hands stuck mid-air, his breaths short when Ned pulled back.

Timothy pressed his lips together into a thin line, his tongue darting out to palate his bottom one, tasting another man’s lips on his own, and he inhaled sharply, a hand curling into a fist in Ned’s shirt. With bated breath, Ned waited, for a punch, for another kiss, for _anything_ , but to his horror, Lovejoy simply let go of him - after a moment so long it could have been a century. Expression indecipherable, eyes half-lidded as usual, Lovejoy clicked his tongue, his voice dangerously low when he said: “The sermon is over: I should change and close the church doors. I advise you to leave.”

And truly, had Ned known pain before now? He expected the rejection, with the sermon given just minutes before he should _welcome_ it, even, yet it still **hurt**. So much so that he couldn’t hide the tears before they came. Stumbling backward and out of the sacristy, Flanders still smiled, tasting salt.

“Of course. I’ll be going then.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

_To be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Ned had kissed Lovejoy, then been asked to leave. It wasn't quite the response he'd hoped for. So what comes next? Had their relationship been ruined? Could Ned ever return to church again? 
> 
> [TW: Very very mild, interrupted smut - so basically just foreplay. Still, be warned!!]

**Lovejoy’s POV**

Directly after Flanders’ exit, Lovejoy sank to his knees in the sacristy, clasping his hands together and bowing his head to pray. Eyes shut and breath in his throat, he called for the Almighty to help him, to guide him in what to do next.

“Please, God, hear my voice and give me strength. Bless me with the help of steering me on the right path, for I have lost my way.”

The lack of response was frightening, the reverend was in dire need of assistance but had no one else to turn to. So he prayed for forgiveness for what happened, for both him and Ned, whispering all verses of pardon he knew in both Latin and English.

Anchoring himself in a temporary state of comfort, Timothy assured himself that what happened between him and Flanders was just an error - a blip in the protocol. A misjudgment on Ned’s side. A momentary dose of confusion, if you will. If Lovejoy so desired, he could blame this encounter entirely on Ned - Lord knows he _wanted_ to. After all, he had no idea Ned felt the way he did or how long he had done so.

Sure, the man leaving in the middle of the sermon and his earlier confession could have been signs, but that **kiss?** That was something the reverend never could have predicted in a million years - not with all the bible practice in the _world_. So yes, Lovejoy _could_ fault Ned, or at the very least hope the Lord saw that he was the one instigating the kiss.

Yet the real issue here was that Timothy didn’t _dislike_ the kiss. And that revelation was far scarier than any he had ever received from the Lord Himself. Of all the people to kiss him, it had to be Ned Flanders - a man he’s disliked from the beginning. The exact reason for his lackluster performances in church yet the only permanence in his life. A man so completely oblivious to his own obsequious and invasive behavior, so unapologetically kind and humble and caring and-

Timothy bit his tongue until he tasted copper. His own mind betrayed him, the exact temptation of lust he had just preached about catching him in its grip. What a hypocrite he was.

Refocusing on his orison, he shut out any sinful thoughts to call for the Divinity. His eyes were squeezed shut, his knuckles turning white in his grip as he grew more and more desperate, every fiber of his being pleading for help.

Then, as he recognized a presence with him in the sacristy, he exhaled a shaky sigh of relief, stifling a sob by swallowing the lump in his throat. Finally, he would know what to do!

“Thank you, Lord, thank you! I have never felt this helpless before and would be eternally grateful for anything you can bestow me,” murmured the reverend, hoarse and unsteady. He waited patiently, ready to do so all day if needed, but that was when a sense of comfort filled the air, an atmosphere which grounded him in a calm like one he had never experienced before. His chest immediately felt lighter, a weight taken off of him, and Lovejoy could make out two words in this calm: ‘All is well.’

Thrown off but quiet and still, Lovejoy hoped there would be more. But alas, he realized he was too greedy when the presence disappeared. More confused than sated, he sat upright, his hands dropping to his knees as he stared up at the ceiling. What did He mean by ‘All is well’? What was well? Lovejoy and Flanders? Their _kiss?_ This made no sense! Timothy was infinitely grateful for the sign, for being granted His time, but he was also confused. More so than ever, in fact. After everything he’d been taught by his parents and other clerics alike, about homosexuality being taboo and one of the greatest transgressions, he had received words telling him _the opposite_ by the Divinity _Himself_. And the Divinity would never lie. So what was he to do with this?

Thanking Him for His words of wisdom and for His time, Lovejoy decided to call it a day. He changed and went through his usual routine before locking up the church gates. Even outside, God’s words echoed in his mind like a mantra, repeatedly telling him: ‘All is well’. Perhaps this was the truth.

Timothy lifted a hand to his face and touched his lips, still remembering Ned’s pair gently pressed against his - how he smelled and tasted of vanilla. His cheeks warmed and he shook his head at the absurd notion. 

* * *

The next sermon, Ned and his boys weren’t in church. After years and years of the Flanders family’s spotless record, this was surprising to the reverend. Of course, he understood the reason for their absence, he wasn’t a complete fool. And he didn’t fault Ned for this, either.

The church didn’t feel quite as full without Ned and his sons. Not that Lovejoy was disappointed. No, his faith and loyalty lay with God, and nobody else. Still, it was near impossible for his eyes not to drift to the vacant spot in the first pew while he preached. While the audience bowed their heads with him in collective prayer, he slipped in a wish for the Flanders to come next mass. 

* * *

The next day in church, Reverend Lovejoy was determined to change things up regarding his demeanor and how he treated his church-goers. So he began by greeting every single one of them at the gates when they arrived. He smiled at them and thanked them for coming, earning quite a few raises of eyebrows yet even more warm handshakes and approving nods. When he saw the Flanders enter, an undeniable sense of alleviation filled him.

Ned looked a hot mess, his hair uncombed and his eyes sunken in, and this didn’t fail to make the pastor’s heart ache. However, when it was his turn to shake Timothy’s hand, he lit up, a blushy smile turning the corners of his mustache upward. Lovejoy was distracted by Ned’s tie, sloppily made, and he allowed himself to take care of it, using the excuse of greeting his crowd one by one to his advantage. The contact, though meant as innocent, had the bespectacled man sucking in a sharp breath, clearly not having expected it.

“It’s good to see you again, reverend,” spoke Ned, and the sincerity of it almost hurt. Timothy gave a curt nod, absolutely _hating_ how a grin of his own formed on his lips. Ned’s smiles were infectious. Had they been before?

Quietly, as though any loud noise or hasty movement could cause the moment to slip away, he replied: “Likewise, Flanders” and as to make up for the lingering contact, he patted Ned on the back once and sent him on his way. After him followed his two sons Rod and Todd, who both politely shook the reverend’s hand with wide smiles, and he gave them each a hair tousle for good measure.

Unused to being gleeful at any level, Lovejoy shook his head and schooled his expression, stepping up on the pulpit. Then, standing there, he thought he must look awfully static, _boring_ , even, and so, he stepped back down again, treading forward on the stage instead so he could see everyone in the crowd.

“I welcome you today to the house of God, and of acceptance. It’s a pleasure and a blessing to have each and every one of you here,” he greeted, met with a wave of stunned gasps. This did not surprise nor offend the reverend. He was well aware of his own dull performances. But it was high time to do something about it, and what better time than now?

The energy of the church shifted almost instantly with his change in tone, and every pair of eyes in the building were now on him - this had everything and nothing to do with the loveable, infuriating man in the front row, watching him with careful optimism.

Lowering his voice to a more serious one, Lovejoy intended to account for his earlier mistake.

“Now, before we start, I’d like to make a statement regarding last Sunday’s sermon…”

He made a point of not looking in Flanders’ general direction when speaking next, afraid he’d linger too long if he did. “The most important thing to remember about sin and temptation is to love and forgive each other. And that whoever you love-...”

Recalling the very words he’d been told by his Divinity, he continued: “... -all is well.”

When he scanned the audience, it was difficult to tell if they were with him, since many of their expressions were unreadable, neutral. Timothy thought of a verse perfect to round it all off with.

“From the words of Romans, 15:7: Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.”

Following this were the entire church, agreeing with one collective: “Amen”. Pleasantly surprised, Lovejoy offered them all a grateful smile, making sure he met eyes with Ned, too. From the overwhelmingly doting look on his face - there might as well be _hearts_ hanging above his head, Timothy had to look away to compose himself - it appeared that the other man forgave him. And that was all Lovejoy needed to go on with the mass, in a better mood than he’d been in months, if not _years_. 

* * *

By the end of the mass, many of the church-goers were eager to shake his hand and praise him for a job well done. They all said how ‘the old Lovejoy is back!’ when in reality, this was a Lovejoy they hadn't seen before. And it was all thanks to one man, Timothy fondly thought, rather excited to see him again.

“Well, that speech certainly was a de-diddly-light, reverend!” cheered Flanders when most of the crowd had cleared out. His sons nodded in agreement - and Lovejoy wasn’t a modest man, yet he bowed his head sheepishly at the compliment, rubbing at his neck. He replied cautiously: “I ought to have done that years ago. If I’m being honest, it was invigorating.”

“I sure bet it was!” Ned grinned back, practically beaming. And suddenly, it dawned on Timothy that he had no idea how to proceed from here on out. What if Ned wanted to talk to him again in private? What would happen then? And what did Timothy _want_ to happen?

With color high on his cheeks, he stammered that Flanders should take his kids home and spend some family time with them, an excuse for his own cowardliness. He was acting like a stupid teenager in love. But then again, he had never felt this way for a man before…

Though a tad deflated at the suggestion, Ned still smiled, extending a hand out for the pastor to shake. When he did, sparks were flying between them, electricity shooting up his arm at the contact. Swallowing hard, Lovejoy said: “Take care, Ned.”

Then, shifting his attention to the young boys, he once again ruffled their hair, reluctant to let go of the warm hand in his but hoping to get a chance to hold it properly soon. “And you two rascals, too. Go have some fun with your dad,” he added.

“Yes, reverend,” giggled both Rod and Todd, tugging at their dad impatiently for him to follow them out of the church. They had been sitting still for over an hour, after all. Lovejoy was impressed with how well Ned had schooled them.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” Flanders laughed, turning back to the reverend one last time before leaving. He asked: “Talk soon?”, careful yet expectant, and Timothy nodded, watching Ned smile and take his leave. He definitely hoped they _would_ talk soon. Once he got his feelings under control and his priorities in order, that was. 

* * *

As the week went on and Lovejoy carried on making excuses for not seeing Flanders, the reverend realized he may need some help making a decision. But he felt disinclined to ask God again. He’d done so much for Lovejoy already. So Lovejoy made an appointment with his therapist, whom he hadn’t visited in a long time. Not since his last fall out with the booze, that was. Luckily, she had a rather open schedule this week and could see him as soon as Friday.

After the day’s sermon and yet another hour of making on and off eye contact with his newfound object of affection, Timothy hurried out of his pastor’s robe and out of church to make it on time for his appointment. Only moments later, he lay in that infamous red recliner chair you always see in movies to talk about his feelings.

“It’s been a while, Timothy. How’ve you been?” asked his therapist - Tracey. Tracey was a kind lady in her mid-thirties, with icy blonde hair in a thick braid and red-rimmed glasses. She had her notepad ready in her hand, and she clicked the ballpoint pen in the other, more enthusiastic about this conversation than Lovejoy was. After calculating a reasonable response, he uttered an: “I'm Fine.”

He felt Tracey’s eyes on him, disapproving but sympathetic. “Is that why you’re here?” she asked. Lovejoy wondered if he gave off a despondent energy, if the unease he’d been in since his talk with God radiated off him in waves. Of course, you don't book a meeting with your therapist if your life is going great. 

“Well, no,” admitted Timothy with diffidence, realizing that opening up was harder than he first thought. Reading him wrong, Tracey leaned forward in her chair, scanning her client.

“Is it your drinking?” she queried, and with every right- considering her client’s history, and Lovejoy acted on impulse, sputtering a: “No!”

Then, as Tracey nodded and put her pen to paper, Lovejoy steered her right.

“I haven’t. It hits me just now that I’ve been sober for over a month. I-...” he trailed off, the reality of his statement striking him hard - making him bark out a laugh. He shook his head lightly. Could it be that he was becoming a better person? Because of Ned Flanders?

“No, I’m fine with the drinking. It’s just that I- uh, I’ve met someone.”

Ultimately, he couldn’t settle for any better way to put it into words, though his statement sounded funny to him. He’d met this man well over twenty years ago, but he was just now truly _seeing_ him. As he sat upright, Tracey gave him an easy smile, saying: “That’s wonderful to hear, Timothy. Do you want to tell me about them?”

 _Them_. Huh. That made it all much more simple, didn’t it? It made sense and it took away any chance to be wrong. Oh, Lovejoy should have used ‘them’ when talking to Ned about his love interest. If he’d done so, perhaps things wouldn’t have gotten so complicated. Nonetheless, the attuned guilt still bled into his voice when he confessed: “It’s a man. A man I have known since a while back, actually, who attends my church. Just the other weekend, he… well, he kissed me.”

If Tracey felt uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. She only followed him up with a question, that one question they always ask: “And how did that make you feel?”

A moment of silence passed before Timothy managed to speak, but when he did, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“I… I liked it. It was nice. I’d like to do it again,” he admitted, his face hot when he recalled the event - Ned whisking him away into the sacristy and confessing: ‘There is no lady’. Him pulling Lovejoy into a kiss, soft and shy yet insistent.

Tracey brought him back to the session by speaking up.

“And do you think he felt the same?”

What an impossible question. Lovejoy scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I mean, I _hope_ he did. He only pulled away because I wasn’t responding to the kiss. The problem is I’ve never been attracted to a man before. _Never_. All my life, I’ve been taught it was wrong, that it was against the Lord’s wishes. But then I had this revelation…”

And so, Timothy told Tracey everything. Maybe it was her encouraging words, or maybe it was her listening without being appalled by the content, but once the reverend started, he couldn’t stop. It felt like he had opened a flood dam and he only quieted down when he was finished. Hunched over, he panted as if he had just run a marathon, praised for opening up by his therapist, who insisted and almost managed to _convince_ him that his emotions were just. That God loved him no matter what, and that Lovejoy should tell Ned how he felt.

“You two clearly like each other. And you _know_ you like each other. This doesn’t happen every day, Timothy, you should tell him. While you still can,” said Tracey, and she was right. Lovejoy knew she was. So he briskly shot up from his seat, apologizing for rushing out, but Tracey ensured him it was all right, and told him she was happy to hear from him again. When she held out a hand out to shake Timothy’s, he pulled her into a hug instead, whispering a wobbly: “Thank you.”

“Of course. Good luck with your church-goer slash lover.”

**Flanders’ POV**

Another weekend to be spent alone in front of the television, Flanders thought. His sons were on a sleepover with a friend; which rarely happened but that they deserved to do every now and then. Ned wasn’t worried in the slightest, he knew the kid and their parents - he worried more for _himself_. Of course, some time alone wouldn’t kill him, but after his kiss with the reverend and the multiple rejections after that, this evening proved to him that he should probably just give up in pursuing Lovejoy. He had made a gross miscalculation and acted upon his feelings without as much as taking the other’s into consideration. Lovejoy’s friendliness after that must have been pity, a sense of obligation.

Well, Ned would get out of his hair this Sunday, anyway. He’d found out about another church just on the outskirts of town, and he could attend a sermon there, focus on the things being said rather than the person speaking. Then he could try and forget Reverend Lovejoy.

He ought to have some wine, Flanders wishfully thought, but his guilt from the other week’s encounter held him back. He bit his tongue and twiddled his thumbs in his lap, forcing himself to at least _pretend_ to have an interest in the show on the TV.

Half an hour later, his mind still drifted to the wine he had stored in the kitchen cupboard. Nothing even remotely interesting showed on the television and he was dealing with the pain of rejection, of knowing he might not ever be quite happy again. One glass certainly couldn’t hurt.

His mind made up, he rose from the couch and made his way to the kitchen, though the sound of the doorbell stopped him in his tracks. Frozen like a deer in headlights, he stared at the front door from his spot in the hallway. Who could possibly be knocking at his door this late on a Friday evening? The parents of Rod and Todd’s friend, perhaps? What if something had happened?

_No, don’t go drawing conclusions just yet, open the damn door instead._

So Ned braced himself for the worst-case scenario and looked through the peephole to find the very opposite. Outside the door stood Reverend Timothy Lovejoy in casual attire (meaning a pink polo save the tie and navy blue jeans), hands shoved deep inside his pockets. Even with the door separating them and the pastor still unaware of Ned’s presence, the sight of him had the other man’s heart rate spiking. For a tenth of a second, Flanders considered tip-toeing away from the door and pretending not to be home - but he quickly abandoned that train of thought. Even if Lovejoy was here to formally reject him, what good would it do to prolong that process? Best to just get it over with, he thought and swung the door open.

“Reverend?” he called, and Timothy showed immediate disapproval of his formal greeting, frowning. He kicked some invisible dirt off the ground, replying: “Ned. Sorry to bother you at this hour,” though he didn’t sound too sorry. So he was going for civil, huh?

Then he smiled, a small, brief curl of his lips - and dear Lord, was he pretty.

“Not a bother at all. Would you like to come in?” Ned was surprised by how level he managed to sound. When Timothy nodded, he stepped aside to let him in, closing the door after him. He would offer the man a glass of wine, but he wasn’t sure if it would be entirely appropriate. So they lingered in the hallway, quite cumbersomely so, and Ned silently begged Lovejoy to just spit out whatever he came to say - so he could distract himself from the fact that his object of affection was in his house. With him. _Alone_.

Taking note of this detail, Lovejoy looked around. “Are your boys asleep?”, he asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Flanders couldn’t tell if it was a hint of nerves or discomfort - the reverend was difficult to read.

“They’re staying at a friend’s house for the night,” replied Flanders, grateful for them being away right now - get him right, he didn’t need Rod and Todd listening in on their conversation. Lovejoy hummed in acknowledgment, then shook his head as though reminding himself of his purpose here.

“I was hoping to talk to you about last weekend…” he began.

 _Here it comes,_ fretted Flanders, swallowing. His heart pounded out of his chest and there was no comfortable place in his mouth for his tongue to rest. And speaking of tongues…

Scuffing his shoe against the floor, Lovejoy exhaled: “- about that kiss,” and Ned made to apologize before the other could reprimand him, his nerves getting the better of him.

“I know, I should never have kissed you. I don’t know what got into me and I- I don’t blame you if you want nothing to do with me after it,” the words left him all in one single breath, punched out of him, and they left a bitter taste in his mouth but he had to say them. If he had any chance of redemption in this relationship (if you could even _call_ it that), he wanted to at least try to make amends. However, the pastor’s reaction to his outburst wasn’t quite what he expected - for he took a step back, sinking a little. He queried, gently: “Do you regret it?”, and it knocked the bespectacled man into orbit. He would say yes if their kiss meant them not being able to go back to being friends, but what did Lovejoy want to hear, exactly? His lack of assertiveness was, frankly, scary, and furthermore, _confusing_.

“I-... Well, do _you?”_

This quip had a grin forming on Lovejoy’s features and he closed the space between them, picking that assertiveness right back up by cupping Flanders’ face in his hand and locking their lips together.

A surprised squeak died on Ned’s tongue and at first, he tensed up when strong arms wound around his waist and pulled him close, his head swimming from the realization that Lovejoy was indeed kissing him. Following this acknowledgment was elation, and Ned enthusiastically responded to the kiss, hands moving up to the taller’s neck and fingers dipping into black, coiffed hair. He combed through it until he had worked the product out, messing it up, though he couldn’t say he felt very bad about it.

The reverend’s smart mouth moving so smoothly against his caused heat to surge throughout Flanders’ whole body, rooting itself and blooming in his chest. Timothy pecked him one last time on the lips before they reluctantly parted to breathe, and his hair looked positively disarranged.

“Does that clear things up for you?” he questioned, low and intimate in the quiet of the room, with their lips a breath away from each other. With his glasses askew and the taste of Lovejoy on his tongue, Ned gave a stuttered nod.

“Good.”

He took one of Ned’s hands and brought it up to his face to brush his lips against the back of it, and Ned _swooned_ , thankful to be held or else his knees would have given way.

“I wanted to apologize for having been such an idiot,” continued Lovejoy, taking Ned by surprise. In what universe had _he_ been the idiot? Ned was the one who started this, after all - he didn’t blame the other party for needing time to figure out if he returned his sentiment. He was just happy to get an answer at all; and he couldn’t exactly say he was disappointed with his answer.

“When you first kissed me, I was left with mixed feelings. All my life, I’ve been taught that all romantic gestures between men were blasphemy. That’s why liking it- liking _you_ , terrified me.” Timothy confessed, bowing his head shamefully, and if Ned wasn’t so taken aback by his words and helplessly smitten with the man saying them, he would probably have snarked: _‘Welcome to_ _my life’._ But alas, he had to be ignorant not to understand Lovejoy’s initial hesitation. The man was a _pastor_ , after all - he had more than just his own feelings to take into consideration before starting a new relationship with someone.

With a click of his tongue, the reverend went on: “Needless to say, I might have a more conservative mindset than I sometimes let on”, shooting Ned a wary smile. Ignoring his heart beating like a trapped bird in his chest and the impulse to kiss Lovejoy stupid, Ned had to know: “So what changed your mind? What made you come here?”

“I think it’s a fine mix between a booked appointment, you being you, and receiving His blessing,” replied Lovejoy, not needing to spell out His name for them both to know who he was talking about.

“His blessing?” Flanders asked, rather curious in what he meant.

“If you would believe it. I was praying, asking Him for advice on what to do, and I felt His presence. I couldn’t see Him, but I heard his voice, telling me that ‘all is well’,” explained Timothy. Ned recalled those last three words from church, the eye contact they had when he said them. It was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders when he processed what that meant - what it _could_ mean. And what a waste his worries had been, after all.

“That’s amazing,” he whispered, though the tail-end of it morphed into a high pitched, choked off noise that died in the back of his throat - for the pair of arms around him slid down his back and settled right above his ass, squeezing his sides. Not yet improper yet not quite low enough. Lovejoy hummed his agreement, muttered something about Ned being ‘divine’ into his neck, but all Ned could pick up was the tone he had. Timothy’s voice, low and rough, was _dripping_ in lust.

“Oh my,” exhaled Ned, gripping onto Lovejoy in a silent plea for the man to kiss him again. His emotions got the better of him and before he could contemplate whether or not he was going too fast, he asked: “Won’t you stay over?”

Lovejoy only detangled himself from the other long enough to step out of his shoes before leading Ned by the hand into his own living room. He settled into the couch as though he’d done it a hundred times before, winking as he said: “You’d have a hard time getting rid of me.”

 _That’s the last thing I want to do right now,_ thought Flanders, happy to be pulled into the reverend’s lap. He straddled his legs and adjusted the glasses that began to slant down his nose. He had a feeling they’d get crooked again, though, and he wouldn’t mind that - in fact, he’d _welcome_ it.

One arm hooked around his waist in a grip a church pastor should not have, while the other tilted his jaw slightly upward to meet his eyes. Into the space between them, Lovejoy asked: “Can I kiss you again?”

“I’ll be upset if you don’t,” smiled Ned back, leaning in to meet him halfway for another mind-blowing kiss.

Getting familiar with Timothy’s lips on his own, the pleased hums that slipped past them and the texture and feel of his hair between his fingers was a lovely experience, though it greatly improved when a tongue swiped at the seam of his lips and the arms on the small of his back slipped beneath his sweater. Ned sighed against the taller’s lips, parting his own to let Lovejoy in and squirming beneath dexterous fingers that traced down his back and tickled his sides.

“Sensitive, are we?” rasped Timothy once they broke their kiss, nosing down his jawline and breathing hot against his skin. Mind foggy, Ned inhaled sharply, weakly protesting against his claim with a: “N- No.”

A gasp tore from his lips when Lovejoy’s tongue snuck out and licked a stripe up his neck, a small moan stolen as a kiss was pressed right where his collar began, where Timothy tugged his shirt aside. With slightly trembling hands, Ned moved the larger hands down to the hem of his sweater, urging him to take it off. Lovejoy took the hint and peeled it over his head, tossing it over his shoulder. He then continued pressing kisses and marks where he could reach, deft fingers unbuttoning his shirt and revealing more skin. 

“Reverend,” Flanders sighed, baring his neck to grant him more access, though Lovejoy lifted his head at the name, shooting Ned a miffed look. He tutted: “No, that won’t do. Call me Lovejoy. Or Timothy.”

And he sucked a mark into a more sensitive spot below his collar, the pressure edging on painful, which drew a choked moan from Ned: “T- Timothy!”

Visibly pleased, Lovejoy peeked his head up to give the other a sharp smile, saying: “That’s more like it.”

He was going to be the death of Ned yet. But what a way to go.

The lower Lovejoy reached, the more Ned squirmed, worked apart by the skilled tongue and fingers on his skin. His glasses almost fogged with his quick breaths, and when Timothy laved at one of his nipples, his hips instinctively rolled forward and he let out a loud, obscene moan. He immediately slapped one hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The reverend has already heard him, and when Ned’s hips lined up with his, he could feel that Lovejoy was just as hard as he was. Both parties stilled, the only sound in the room besides the buzz of the television being their hectic breathing.

Timothy was the first to speak up, reluctant: “Perhaps we shouldn’t…” and Ned shifted his hips in hope to take the pressure off Lovejoy’s lap - but instead, he made things _worse_ as their lengths pressed together, and they both groaned at the contact. Ned finally scrambled off of his lap and almost onto the floor, nodding repeatedly in agreement. The sensible part of his brain did indeed see how this was too soon for them, while every other cell in his body screamed for them to continue.

“Y- Yes, of course. I mean- right,” he stuttered, his panic painfully audible and noted by the other, who beckoned him close again to give him a chaste but placating kiss. He spoke, quietly: “Believe me, I want to, but we shouldn’t. I haven’t even asked you on a date yet,” which had Flanders pulling back to check his expression for satire. He couldn’t find any.

“You… wanna take me on a date?”

Sly, Lovejoy shrugged his shoulders. “I thought that was a given,” he grinned.

A swarm of emotions hit Ned like a floodwave and he expressed them by kissing Timothy once more, slow and deep. When he pulled away, he whispered into the silence of the room: “Do you still want to stay the night?” and the pastor responded by sinking into the couch cushions and making himself comfortable, lazily inviting Ned to join him with a wave of his hand. Ned eagerly complied, settling between long legs and leaning his head against a warm chest. He relaxed almost at once - the man was a furnace. Reaching for the TV remote atop the coffee table and turning it off, Ned tried his damndest to ignore the still prominent bulge in the other’s pants. If he had as much as a dash less self control, he’d probably be trailing his hand up Lovejoy’s thigh and grinding the heel of his palm against his dick to find out just how much resolve the man had.

But alas, he _didn’t_ have that little self control. The promise of a date, the underlying statement that this might happen again - that was enough to keep him motivated. It was worth waiting for.

Lovejoy pressed a kiss into his hair, murmuring for him to go to sleep, and it might take a while for Flanders to do so, but as long as he could stay here in the other man’s arms, he was fine with that. 

* * *

The next morning, Ned Flanders was woken up far too early by someone poking him in the cheek, limbs tangled with someone else’s, longer ones, and his head nestled gently against a steadily rising and falling chest. Then, the voice of his eldest son Rod spoke up: “Dad?”, and Ned sleepily opened his eyes, freezing when he registered the compromising position he was in with none other than Reverend Lovejoy, and all while his two boys stared at him questioningly, confused.

“Why are you and the pastor hugging?” asked Todd curiously, and Ned thanked his God he didn’t go any further with Lovejoy last night after all. He couldn’t even imagine trying to make excuses as to why he was in bed with the church reverend to his ten and twelve-year-old sons. He made an attempt to sit upright on the couch, but in his sleep, Timothy slurred something unintelligible and wrapped his arms tighter around him. Face flushed, Flanders adjusted his glasses - he _slept_ with them on?! - and he carefully shook Lovejoy awake.

After a sleep-thick groan and some rubbing of eyes, Lovejoy came to, sitting up and going just as stiff as his counterpart when realizing they had company.

“Good morning, reverend. Did you and our dad have a sleep-over, too?” Rod asked - a completely innocent and rational question.

Too flustered to come up with a good excuse, Ned turned to Timothy, who gave him a reassuring look, explaining calmly to the young Flanders that their dad was helping him write a speech for the next mass. They both nodded and Ned was pleasantly surprised by the cover-up story Lovejoy came up with and how level a head he kept. He was great with kids, which shouldn’t be questionable since he has a daughter of his own - but it was… admittedly charming. He would love to meet Lovejoy’s kid, too, if he approved, he thought fondly.

Ned followed Lovejoy to the front door while his sons started channel surfing, knowing they would start wondering if their local reverend stayed any longer.

“I’m sorry for kicking you out like this,” he apologized, rueful to be showing him out so soon. Once Lovejoy had his shoes on again, he took Flanders’ hand, but only after glancing over to the living room to check for any prying eyes.

“I’m not. I’d gladly do it all again. Besides, we’ll meet soon,” he soothed Ned, who did not have enough self-restraint to keep himself from raising on his tippy-toes to press a lingering kiss to the corner of the pastor’s mouth. He agreed quite happily: “I’d like that..”

Lovejoy responded with a wide grin - boy, smiling sure did suit him - and he squeezed Ned’s hand once in return before walking out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the long wait! I wasn't quite satisfied with my first rendition of the finale and took some time to rewrite it - all you lovely readers deserve my very best. <3 It's extra long to make up for it, though! I really hope you like it!

**Author's Note:**

> 2 works for Flanjoy?! JUST THE TWO?? I'm the THIRD?! Well okay then! If you lovely readers for some reason LIKE this and would like the second chapter, please let me know. Your support and feedback is always appreciated. <3


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